


Tonight

by Brambleshadow_of_WindClan



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, First Time, Hurt/Comfort, Post Episode: s02e07 The Idiot's Lantern, Romance, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-03
Updated: 2013-12-03
Packaged: 2018-01-03 07:56:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1067969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan/pseuds/Brambleshadow_of_WindClan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Movin’ to the rhythm of your heartbeat. Oh, I’m wantin’, waitin’, touchin’ you. We’ll be movin’ to the rhythm of your heartbeat. Oh babe, when you get that rhythm, gonna move into your room. Tonight—give me love with no disguise. Tonight—I see the fire in your eyes. Tonight—so right, this night, could it be dynamite? Wait and see. If it pleases you it pleases me.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tonight

**Author's Note:**

> Based on “Tonight” by Def Leppard. Some was inspired by "Love Bites".
> 
> I'm still not entirely sure about this one, so let me know what you guys think, yeah?

The dark blue police box shell of the TARDIS barrelled out of the space-time vortex and slowed its fast spin as it adjusted to being in actual space. Inside the darkened console room, green light from the time rotor cast shadows on the coral-like struts against the walls and on the angular features of the TARDIS’s thief: a tall, skinny, spiky-haired man known as the Doctor. His brown eyes and hair had darkened to black in the green light, and his entire face was furrowed in deep thought.

He’d saved 1953 London from the Wire a few hours ago and had been reunited with Rose, but he couldn’t forget the sight of her standing there in the police station without her face.

They’d taken her, chucked her out in the street, and _left her there_. As a result, that had made things simple, very, very simple.

It had also made him realize just how much he cared about her, and that he was tired of playing whatever waiting game they were making.

“Doctor?” Rose’s voice interrupted his thoughts, had him turning his head to look at her. “Are you okay?”

“I’m always okay.” His hands, he noticed, were gripping the console so hard they’d turned white. He wasn’t sure if that was from pent-up anger or from stopping himself giving in to the urge to touch her, to have her hands on him.

Rose stepped forward, closer to him, and a shiver raced through him when her hand rested on his shoulder. “No, you’re not,” she said softly. “What is it?”

He forced himself to meet her eyes and saw only concern in the whiskey-colored orbs. Concern . . . and something else. That potent mixture had him confessing, “I almost lost you today. Rose, I promised your mother I’d keep you safe.”

“You’re doing a lousy job of it,” she said with a tongue-in-cheek smile to show there were no hard feelings.

His expression hardened, and her smile died. “If something happened to you, something I couldn’t fix . . . if you _died_ . . . Rose, you and the TARDIS are all I have left.” A hollow laugh escaped. “Not to mention your mother would skin me alive and then crucify me.”

“Only after you’d—” At his cold look, she trailed off. “Sorry.”

He focused on the console, shook his head to clear it. “If I lose you, if you die because of me, I don’t know what I’d do, Rose.”

The hand that was on his shoulder slid across his neck. He turned toward her, let her embrace him, his angular frame to her curves. Suddenly he wanted more than just holding her. He needed to be sure she was real; he wanted to taste her, touch her. He’d waited this long; surely he could wait a bit longer.

“S’okay,” she murmured as he tightened his hold on her, buried his face in her hair. “We’ll always be okay, you and me.”

The Doctor closed his eyes, inhaled her scent, and tried to shake off the sense of foreboding that came with her words. After a long moment he drew back to study her face and found he couldn’t look away from her eyes. His own emotions were reflected in that golden-brown, along with the something else he’d seen earlier, something almost primal, animal.

 _There’s no need for this little trap, this game, of yours, Rose,_ he thought absent-mindedly. _It would have happened anyway._

“Doctor?”

“Hhhmm?” Then he realized one hand was tangled in her golden hair, the other slowly stroking her lower back.

“What’re you doing?” Her voice was a little bit unsteady, but he could hear her breath hitch, her heart beat a little bit faster.

His eyes searched hers again, settled on her lips. Damn the consequences; damn Rassilon’s policy on Time Lords mixing with other species; damn his own morals, rules, on becoming close with a companion. This was _Rose_ , and she was worth it.

Without thinking, without considering how she’d react, he kissed her. It might have lasted seconds, it might have lasted hours; then it was over.

He couldn’t read her expression, and that worried him. The Doctor swallowed hard, tried to find his voice. All that came out was, “Your room. Now. Right now.”

She stepped back, hesitated, then held out her hand. He took it, let her lead him down the twisting hallways to her room.

It was already open, and he silently thanked the TARDIS. In response, his ship sent her thief an image of him lying next to Rose, sheets rumpled and the duvet covering both of them.

Rose stopped, released his hand, and faced him. “Doctor, what’s wrong?”

“Rose, please.” His voice was raspy, with a hint of a Scottish lilt. “I want . . . I need . . .” _To be sure,_ he silently finished. He drew in a shuddering breath, locked his eyes on hers. “Please, Rose . . .,” he whispered, “just . . . let me make love to you.”

He was grateful for the dim light, but he could see her expression anyway. It bothered him that he couldn’t read it. Normally she was so easy to read.

Then soft lips pressed against his, hesitantly, as if she was still unsure about his intentions. The Doctor deepened the kiss, breaking it only to lift her shirt up over her head (she’d changed from her ’50s outfit to her Union Jack T-shirt and jeans). After that, undressing her (even as she did the same to him) was a blur.

They fell together easily, the Doctor on top, all angular lines and lean muscle. His right hand cupped her face as he continued to explore her mouth, deepening the kiss, begging entrance. The taste of her lingered on his palate and he wanted more, so much more.

Her arms wrapped around him; his left hand palmed her right breast, his thumb lazily stroking the taut, dusky bud of her nipple.

He had a respiratory bypass, but she did not. The Doctor broke the kiss, partly to give Rose a chance to breathe and partly so he could nuzzle at her neck. He’d never done this before, in any of his incarnations; the furthest he’d ever gone was a kiss. But he knew human anatomy (after traveling with so many for so long, how could he not?) and he’d never felt as strongly toward any of his companions—even Sarah Jane, even Grace—than he did toward Rose. This wasn’t just for reassuring himself that she was real, wasn’t just sex. He’d never let his hugs with Rose linger for too long for fear of the thought that finally making love to her would drive him crazy, if it hadn’t already.

Yet tonight, in this moment, being with Rose like this just felt so _right_. As he pressed a kiss to the pulse point in her throat, heard her sharp intake of breath, arousal rolled through him in a long slow wave.

Oh so slowly, he moved down from neck to left breast, teeth grazing the soft, supple skin. He nipped, suckled, teased her with his tongue. His right hand had dropped from her face and was now resting on the mattress, supporting his weight and making sure he didn’t crush her. Well, making sure he had room to maneuver, anyway—even inside his head he had a flare for the dramatic. But then, he always had been like that. Some things apparently never changed.

His left hand slid down her body, resting at the curve of her waist. Her nails dug into the skin between his shoulder blades as he concentrated his oral talents on her other breast. The Doctor flicked his gaze up to her face, saw the fire of desire and raw need in her eyes.

 _Oh, just you wait and see, Rose Tyler,_ he thought. _We haven’t even started yet._

She was small, he noticed, but nicely toned: all that running for their lives sure increased muscle mass and tone, decreased the amount of adipose. He could tell, at least, that she was more muscular than her mother—and it didn’t take long to push _that_ image out of his head.

Rose threw her head back against the pillow, moaned, arched into him. Almost reluctantly, he released her, pushed himself up on his elbows for more leverage. Then he was exploring the smooth planes of her stomach, darting the tip of his tongue into her navel. Her hands had moved from his upper back to his messy shock of brown hair, nails lightly scraping his scalp. It felt good, soothing, and sent another wave of pleasure through him.

The Doctor lifted his head, met Rose’s glazed eyes, and found that, for once, words failed him. He licked his suddenly-dry lips, saw her eyes follow the movement. In that glassy stare he could see desire, yes, but something else as well, something he’d never been able to name. Combine that with the pheromones coming off her . . . He couldn’t hope to resist, couldn’t stop his gaze raking over her, falling deeper into fantasy.

Then he was spreading her legs, nosing his way into her musky heat. His lips found one spot on her inner thigh that had her moaning. So he kissed her there often, because the sweet sound meant more to him than anything else in the universe.

He teased her with fingers and tongue, reveled in the feel, the taste of her, in the fact that _he_ was the one bringing her ever closer to the edge.

She breathed in, came on something like a sob. He drank his fill; then again made his way slowly up her body, covered her mouth with his.

Rose was trembling with aftershocks, her body slick with exertion. The Doctor, in comparison, was relatively dry—which, to Rose, didn’t seem fair. But then, hardly anything affected him. It was just another reminder that even though he looked human, he was anything but.

Lyrical strains, strings of phrases, reached his ears, and the Doctor realized they were coming from him. It surprised him how easily he’d slipped into his mother tongue of Gallifreyan—but intermixed with that was Gaelic, the musical language of Ireland and Scotland. Where had he picked up Gaelic? Traveling with Jamie McCrimmon, maybe? Yes, probably. Though, at this point, the Doctor wasn’t even aware of what he was saying.

To torture them both, he slid inside her inch by inch, a moan escaping his lips. _Oh, gods._ In all his lives, he’d never felt anything that came close to _this_ , being completely surrounded by Rose, the human woman who’d wormed her way into and stolen both his hearts.

Even if he couldn’t tell her how he felt about her, he could show her. Right now.

She matched him move for move, thrust for thrust. He kept the rhythm long and slow; he didn’t want hard and fast, not now.

Rose cried out, arched beneath him as the wave that had been building broke over her. Her breath was coming in pants now, and the Doctor groaned softly. _He_ ’d done that to her.

_If it pleases you, it pleases me . . ._

He couldn’t hold back any longer. His fingers dug into her hips; his body shivered as he emptied himself into her—hearts, soul, and seed.

 

-oOo-

Afterward, he indulged himself by spooning her. His arms were wrapped around her sleeping form, holding her close to him; his chin rested on the top of her head. He closed his eyes, ducked his head to bury his face in her fan of golden hair. The Doctor took a deep breath, savored the scent that was uniquely Rose.

Silently, he promised himself that he would never leave her behind, not again, not after this. She meant too much to him. How could he ever willingly let her go?

Something he’d asked her on a rocky planet came back to him: _“How long are you going to stay with me?”_

Her answer? _“Forever.”_

No, he’d never leave her. He couldn’t do that, not to Rose. She meant everything to him.

But for now he would savor this moment in time, hold it close to his hearts. The two of them deserved that much, at least.

 

_Movin’ to the rhythm of your heartbeat._  
_Yeah, I’m wantin’, waitin’, touchin’ you._  
_We’ll be movin’ to the rhythm of your heartbeat._  
_Oh, babe, when you get that rhythm, gonna move into your room._

_Tonight—give me love with no disguise._  
_Tonight—I see the fire in your eyes._  
_Tonight—so right, this night, could it be dynamite?_  
_Wait and see. If it pleases you, it pleases me. . . ._


End file.
